


Bound (to fire and blood, to winter and wind)

by Valeska



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (and in first place), (why can't I put Jon Snow&Rhaegal in the relationship-tags with all the words capitalized), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Tag, F/M, Jon gets a dragon, Jon&Rhaegal bonding, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegal deserved more, Rhaegal survives, Season/Series 08, as did Ghost, as did Jon, at least happier than in Canon, because Jon is no passive potato, so here's something better than being killed by Euron Greyjoy, somewhat of an happy ending, spoilers for up to 8x04, they all deserve some love, totally made up concept of bonding with a dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeska/pseuds/Valeska
Summary: It was then, that Jon was sure he hadn’t made a mistake by getting onto his back once more, because as soon as they were high enough and Rhaegal leveled out into a more horizontal flight, the dragon’s elation cursed through his whole being, the breathtaking view from so high up above burned itself into his eyes and Jon could help himself, he smiled. Relieved and happy and high on the feeling of excitement and exhilaration from himself and from his dragon, bounding vibrantly through him, making him, for just a moment, feel so free from everything that has been weighing him down for the bigger part of his life. There was nothing that could make him feel as free as soaring through the air with his dragon in his mind, sharing his happiness and elation.(In which Jon doesn't travel to Dragonstone on horseback, but on dragonback, because Rhaegal refuses to let him do anything else.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! So, my second work in English, still makes me no native speaker. I also still have no beta, any mistakes are sadly my own. If you find some, tell me and I'll gladly remove them ^-^
> 
> This work got inspired by Ella Symphony's comment on my story [Gone (carried on burning wings, blown away by freezing winds)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815347) where she wished "Jon [not to be] a passive potato [...] so Rhaegal doesn't die". So, here it is, Jon not being a passive potato (I even put it in the tags ;D) and Rhaegal not dying. (Because he really deserved better.) 
> 
> Have fun and leave me something nice on your way out ;)

The fleet sailed beneath them over the glittering water, the ocean itself looking like a never ending field of blue and green. The wind cut into him sharply, tugging at his hair and cloak, but Jon couldn’t really feel the cold. Rhaegal was much too warm, to feel anything else but his heat, and if he ducked close enough to his scaled neck, he was mostly protected from the whipping air.  
If it weren’t for the noise of the wind and the sea, Jon could even close his eyes and fool himself into thinking he was back at Winterfell, burrowed into the furs of his bed with Ghost being a cozy presence at his back.

The thought of his direwolf made him swallow hard and his hands clenched tighter around Rhaegal’s spines, where he was grabbing to make sure he wouldn‘t fall off. 

Although scolding himself to be a coward, he shoved those thoughts away. It hurt, thinking about it, and it hurt, not to think about it. It hurt not to be next to or at least near his longest friend and his home as a whole, it hurt to know he possibly wouldn’t ever see all of it again.

So he didn’t think of it, concentrated instead on the warmth beneath him and the wind around him.

-

Rhaegal had surprised them all, when he refused to follow his mother and brother the day of their departure. He had sat and didn’t move, no matter what Daenerys had tried to coax him into the air. At first, they had thought it because of his injuries, that he couldn’t fly, so the queen had put off her journey to Dragonstone to wait.

But five days had passed without any sign of the dragon being ready to take off and Daenerys hadn’t wanted to postpone their departure much longer for fear of Cersei gathering more allies and armies, had even thought, noticeably reluctant, about leaving her child behind.

When Jon had finally given in to the persistent tugging in his mind.

-

Ever since sitting astride the dragon’s back for the first time, he had felt something beginning to unfold inside of him. At first it had only been fleeting emotions, brushing against his thoughts, curling around them whenever he touched the green-scaled beast, but after a day or two of being around him, those emotion had begun flaring through his mind even when he wasn’t near him.  
He had thought it imagination, brought on by the lack of sleep and the stress of not one, but two oncoming wars.  
Only after Sam had told him of who he really was, who his true parents were, he had started to think more of those intruding emotions.

After really thinking about it, between preparing for the undead army marching on them and trying to cope with this new knowledge, he began to see the parallels between what he was apparently experiencing with Rhaegal and what he already had with Ghost.  
Even if he wasn’t with the direwolf, he always knew whether he was alright or not, sometimes even getting images or bouts of instinct, nearly formed sharp enough to be a thought, but more often than that emotions.

That wasn’t really different from what he got from the dragon.

And even though he wasn’t sure how to treat that apparent connection, especially when his relationship with Daenerys grew more than strained after he confessed about his heritage, the dragon seemed to be very satisfied with it, often sending contentment through the bond, along with what sounded like purring to his mind, what amused him as much as it bemused.

So, for the sake of Dany’s and his relationship, he tried to ignore this new bond, to be around the dragon only if absolutely necessary, and the tugging inside his head had started. It wasn’t even simply his head, it wasn’t a thought that brushed through his mind, like all the other times, when Rhaegal communicated with him. It did start like that, but only hours after that it evolved into a pull at his whole body, like the bond between the dragon an himself was a physical thing, tangible. Like Rhaegal had one end of a rope, with it’s other end around Jon, and was using it to draw him in, to haul him to his side.

Throughout the feast to celebrate their victory over the Night King an his army of the Dead, the tugging got persistent, more demanding, because besides a quick visit to make sure the dragon wasn‘t hurt too badly after that harsh landing, hard enough to nearly be called a fall, Jon hadn’t been up at the dragons‘ perch and had tried to shove the emotions trying to lure him in out of his head.

He didn’t want any more things to stand between Daenerys and him and doing what could seem like stealing one of her dragons away from her definitely was quite a big thing, one he wasn’t sure he could make the his queen face rationally. If he learned one thing after his time with her, it was that rationality was off the table as soon as her children or her closest friends were concerned.

So, in an attempt to not get turned into a pile of ashes by her favorite child’s hot breath, he did his very best to shove Rhaegal’s presence out of his head and concentrate first on the feast and his friends, later on Ghost’s silent figure next to him in his room.  
Though, when the direwolf turned his head to shoot a very unimpressed look directly into Jon’s eyes and huffed silently, he got the impression his long-time friend was as doubtful about the success of this endeavor as he himself.

-

The tugging got worse and his relationship with Daenerys got still worse, even without him giving in to the dragon in the back of his mind, and then the queen was rallying her troups for her march to first Dragonstone, then King‘s Landing, and it was all Jon could do, to give her everything he promised her, his men, his loyalty, his life. His family wasn’t really satisfied with his decisions and Sansa was right, their men would fight way better and march way faster, if they had a chance to rest some more, but the looks the dragon queen was throwing in their direction got darker by the day and a tiny, barely noticeable part of Jon started to worry what she would do, if they denied her anything, even if it was for the good of his men.

So he bit his tongue on his true thoughts and promised her his troups would march when she wanted them to and threw warning looks at his siblings, hoping they would understand them. He wasn’t sure about Sansa, but the glint he saw in Arya’s eyes was enough to know she understood and that was enough for the moment.

-

And then Rhaegal refused to fly. Drogon got up and shook out his wings and craned his neck to nestle his snout into his mother’s hand, before he allowed her on his back and took off and Rhaegal refused to move a wing into the air. And the tugging on Jon’s whole being got worse. Daenerys got back and petted her child, talked to him in Valyrian, coaxed him forward from his spot on the dirt no longer covered in snow, but he still refused to take off. She even tried to ride on his back, but while he made no move to stop her from climbing onto his back or to throw her off, he didn’t do anything more than crane his head and release a cry into the cold winter air, before he settled back down.

And when that cry echoed in Jon’s body, rushed through his blood, vibrated in his bones, part of him knew there was no other way to get Rhaegal to fly, than for himself to get onto his back and ask him to.

Ghost, standing next to him on the wall, looking out to the dragons‘ perch on the fifth day after they had to put off their journey, while Daenerys was up there, trying to convince her seemingly stubborn child, turned his whole body so he could stare at Jon head on. His normally quiet presence in his mind grew louder for a moment, calling for his attention, and Jon sighed silently, before he turned as well and crouched onto the cold stone underneath him, so he could look his dearest friend directly in his blood-red eyes. They just looked at each other, into each other, for quite some time, long enough, that Tormund, who was standing next to him on the wall, turned and led Davos, who had begun to ask questions that the redhead knew wouldn’t and couldn’t be answered by the former King in the North right now, away from them and down the stairs.

Finally, Ghost huffed out a silent breath, closed in on Jon and gently licked his face, before he burrowed his head into the fur around the man’s shoulder. A soft, but insistent prompting blossomed in his mind, followed closely by what Jon had long since identified as love from his direwolf, mixed with the promise of loyalty and home and a promise to _be there_ when he came back, no matter how or what happened during their time of separation. Jon squeezed his eyes shut at the onslaught of emotions rushing through him and sent all his love for his friend back, while throwing his arms around his neck and grabbing tightly at the white, soft fur. 

“I will come back. I promise. I swear it“, he murmured into the fur.

When he pulled back after many more moments, a second cry echoed through his whole being and intensified the tugging until it was nearly unbearable. He took the time to brush his hands trough the soft fur once more, along his neck, to his head, mindful of his mangled ear, until he could gently grip around his muzzle and press his forehead against Ghost’s. The silent prompting was once more in his kind. He sat back on his haunches, nodded at his longest, dearest, closest friend, then he stood up and turned away.

It hurt. It was definitely one of the most difficult things he ever had to do in his life, purposefully leaving his direwolf behind. He held on to the words he had said, the promise he had made, the love they had sent each other, held all that close to his heart and strode forward, down the stairs, into the courtyard, where Tormund and Davos where waiting.

The redhead looked at him and seemed to understand nearly instantly and Jon was once more grateful for his presence at his side. They hugged, held onto each other tightly.

“Take care of him“, Jon asked, once they were looking at each other again. Tormund grinned.

“Of course. And you come home, when you‘re done in that shit city“, he answered and Jon smiled.

“There is nothing that could stop me from doing that.“ They nodded at each other, gripped at each other’s shoulders tightly once more, then Jon turned to Davos.

“Ser Davos, you will lead the Northmen and the Dothraki in my stead and I will meet you at Dragonstone.“ The man opened his mouth to ask, when once more a loud cry, unmistakably made by a dragon, rang through the air and Jon couldn’t quite conceal the wince when the insistent tugging on his very being was intensified again. Davos look at him for a very long moment, then he nodded and gripped his shoulder.

“I will. Be safe, lad, and take care of yourself until we see each other again!“ Jon smiled gratefully at him, then he grabbed his horse’s reins and swung himself on it’s back, riding fast away from Winterfell and toward, apparently, his dragon, following the pull. 

-

He arrived at the dragons‘ perch on foot, having left behind his horse. He wouldn’t need it and it would find it’s way back to the castle without him.  
Daenerys was standing before Rhaegal, looking quite helpless and frustrated, while she talked to her child in insistent Valyrian. She only realized Jon was there, when Drogon lifted his head and grumbled deep in his chest. She turned around and smoothed out her face into her usual mask and it hurt that she felt the need to do so in his presence when before she would have always opened herself to him. He swallowed the hurt down an went closer.

“He won’t fly“, she said, “I don’t think I have any other choice than to leave him behind.“

Jon looked over her shoulder into the bronze-golden eyes that had focused on him as soon as he had come into sight. The tugging at him had abated, simmering down to a calmer prompting and the already familiar satisfaction.

“Yes, you have“, he replied. Without reacting to the questioning gaze and the furrowed brow of his queen, he stepped around her, until he stood before the green-scaled beast, as big and wide and magnificent as he remembered, especially with the morning sun reflecting off his scales, making them shine and glitter and glow, as if they were being set alight by the fire inside him.

Without fear, because he was no longer afraid of this, _his_ , dragon, he reached out and brushed his hands along the massive snout, that was readily pushed into him. The tugging vanished and contentment and happiness unfurled inside of him, stealing away his breath for a moment, because the dragon’s emotions always were so _loud_ , always echoing through his whole body, instead of brushing through his mind, like Ghost’s did.

“What are you doing?“ Daenerys‘ words were short and clipped, her voice strained and cold, and it hurt once more to have it directed at him, when before there had been warmth and softness.

Rhaegal rumbled lightly and pushed his head against his body, nearly toppling him over, while the contentment in his mind grew even louder, as if to comfort him.

“He called for me“, he answered and his own voice sounded rough and hoarse to his own ears, “Since we flew for the first time, he has been calling for me, wanting me to come to him. And since you have been trying to make him fly, he has tried to pull me to him.“

She was silent for a moment and Jon tried to distract himself from his own rabid heartbeat, by continuing brushing his hands over Rhaegal’s warm scales, looking up into his steady gaze.

“He called for you? My child called for you?“ He could hear old bones shatter underneath her boots, as she came closer. Rhaegal’s gaze changed direction, focused on the silver haired queen behind Jon, the contentment dwindling some to allow caution into the mix and Jon tensed, when the feeling rushed through him. Was the dragon waiting for something bad to happen? Did he think his mother would try to kill the human he apparently chose to be his rider?

Taking a deep breath, Jon turned around, one hand remaining on Rhaegal’s head, to face the woman he once thought loved him.

“Yes, he did and he won’t fly without me on his back. I told Ser Dvos to lead the Northmen and the Dothraki to Dragonstone, I will fly with you“, he said, hoping he sounded much surer and more resolute than he felt, facing the dragon queen. Her mask was stretched tightly across her face, looking strained, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that was going on inside her, glowing with rage and lightning up further with betrayal.

“You are trying to take my child from me?“ It was phrased as a question, but the look in her eyes made clear it really wasn’t one. It was an accusation and Jon tensed even more, as the air filled up with it and got nearly impossible to breath in. He swallowed.

“I’m not taking him away from you. He called for me. What could I do to ignore that?“, she didn’t answer, but her eyes didn’t change, “We don’t have much of a choice right now. If you want Rhaegal to fly with you, I will have to ride on his back. You have tried to convince him otherwise for five days now and he refused.“

His heart still beat wildly in his chest, his hands clenched into fists to hide any possible trembling, his head held high, even though he wanted nothing more than hide underneath Rhaegal’s wings right now, anything to escape that scathing look that was directed at him.

In the end, she said nothing. She turned around in a way that looked more like she wrenched herself away and marched towards Drogon, who had sat silently during the whole talk, doing nothing but watch. 

Jon took that as his answer and turned to Rhaegal, who already lowered one shoulder to help Jon onto his back. Smiling despite the fear that still clenched around his heart, he climbed onto his dragon’s back, succeeding in being much more graceful than on his first try. He situated himself before the huge, leathery wings, pressed himself down against the soothingly warm scales and grabbed onto the spines in front of him with both hands.

Rhaegal unfolded his wings, the green skin shimmering in the sun, making the holes ripped into one of them glaring obvious and sending a spike of worry through Jon, then the dragon took five steps to the edge of the cliff, passing his brother and mother, who seemed to be waiting for them to take off first, and launched them into the air. The staggering feeling of falling rushed through Jon, nearly choking him, before Rhaegal snapped his wings open, smoothly catching them on the air and, with two powerful beatings of his wings, hurling them upwards.

It was then, that Jon was sure he hadn’t made a mistake by getting onto his back once more, because as soon as they were high enough and Rhaegal leveled out into a more horizontal flight, the dragon’s elation cursed through his whole being, the breathtaking view from so high up above burned itself into his eyes and Jon could help himself, he smiled. Relieved and happy and high on the feeling of excitement and exhilaration from himself and from his dragon, bounding vibrantly through him, making him, for just a moment, feel so free from everything that has been weighing him down for the bigger part of his life. There was nothing that could make him feel as free as soaring through the air with his dragon in his mind, sharing his happiness and elation.

The only time he had felt anything like that had been when he was standing on a hill beyond the wall, with Tormund and Ygritte at his side, looking down on a seemingly never-ending valley of snow and ice with the setting sun behind it all, turning everything into a glittering sea, making it sparkle and nearly blindingly bright. He had felt free then, too. But looking at that sparkling sea from up above was even better.

He felt Rhaegal’s warm body under him, moving smoothly, evenly, was swayed to the tact of his beating wings and thought for the first time since leaving for his perch, that he could bear the time of separation from his home (not only his home, but his _home_ ), as long as his dragon was at his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon dug his knees into green scales, clenched his hands tighter around the spines before him, ducked as low as he could, and Rhaegal took off, swooped down, beat his wings once, twice and they were soaring through the air at high speed. They were fast, faster than Jon ever moved before, be it on horseback or dragonback, shooting down like an arrow let loose, the wind tearing at them, ripping at their skin. Determination filled up their mindscape, blasted away every worry for any risks, narrowed everything down to the ships and the desire for their destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter and, as you may have seen, last chapter. I initially had planned to cut this second chapter in two, but decided against it in the end. So, only two chapters.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for reading this and for leaving a kudo and/or a comment!
> 
> Have fun and leave me something nice on your way out ;)

Daenerys and Jon didn’t fly close together, not like that first time, when she allowed him on Rhaegal’s back. She was at the head of the fleet, hovering above her flagship, while Drogon lazily beat his wings to keep them there. Jon wasn’t sure if it was a strategic decision to stay close to her advisors and guide the fleet from above, or if she just wanted the distance from him. If he was being honest with himself, it was probably also him seeking distance from her. 

He just couldn’t think of her anymore without thinking of what Sam told him in the crypts and he hated it. He loved her. He really did. But…  
There was always going to be a „but“ now. _But_ he now was a threat to her, _but_ he wasn’t sure how they would overcome that big revelation, _if_ they could overcome it, _but_ …she was his aunt. 

That last one reverberated through him and all the conflicting feelings came back at once. He loved her, but something in him told him it was wrong to love his aunt, it was wrong to make love to her, it was wrong to even think about it. Targaryens never had a problem with marriage inside the family, brother to sister and so forth. And she wasn’t his sister, just his aunt, and still it sat wrong with him somehow and it put a disturbing layer over his feelings for her, that once had burned bright enough to chase away all doubts. He may be a Targaryen by blood (or at least in half), but he hadn’t grown up as one. 

It hurt, seeing her reject him on some level, but he wasn’t sure how he would react, if she didn’t. Could he simply shrug it off, if she decided it didn’t matter and wanted to be together, no matter everything that happened? He didn’t know and for that, he hated himself, because how could he say he loved her, when this was enough to make him push her away? 

The matter of him being the heir to the Iron Throne was way easier to settle, at least for him. He didn’t want that throne. He didn’t want to take away, what she fought for with fire and payed for with blood. He didn’t want to rule, he didn’t want everyone to put their hopes and expectations into him (again). Even being called King in the North had sent shivers down his back, because that had been Robb’s title, not his, he was no king. He was just Ned Stark’s bastard son and a brother of the Night’s Watch.  
Well… Now he wasn’t even that anymore. His black clad brothers had killed him for wanting to save innocent people from a fate worse than death, for wanting to fulfill the vows he had made. And his father had lied to him about his heritage for his whole life, hiding that he wasn’t even a Stark, but a Targaryen, so he couldn’t even hang on to the thought of being his son, of at least having had a father, anymore. What was he now? He wasnt a member of the Night’s Watch, he wasn’t the bastard of Winterfell, he would never be a Stark, no matter how much he wished for it. What was left? 

Soft, white fur and wild, red hair flashed through his mind and made his heart throb. He shouldn‘t care what he was, because that didn’t matter at the place he called home. What mattered there was only **who** he was and what he could call his and there were at least a direwolf and a red-haired man he could count to the latter. He held on to that thought, just as he held on to his last words to Ghost, let it give him strength. Even if everything else would go to hell, he still had a home he could return to, that was waiting for him. 

But what his heart longed for even more, was to see white hair next to the redhead and the wolf. White hair and gentle eyes and a warm smile. It longed for his queen, who he still wanted to love, and it longed for peace at her side.  
And it ached, because part of him had already submitted to the thought, that there would be no place for him next to her. 

Underneath him, Rhaegal gave a silent, high pitched whine and swerved a little from one side to the other, as if to shake him out of his thoughts, and he smiled faintly. 

Jon was careful with the dragon, mindful of the glaringly obvious holes in his leathery wing, the cuts his undead brother had carved along his torso, but apart from a few unsure stumbles when the wind hit them just wrong at the beginning of their journey, he seemed to do fine. There weren’t any fancy loops or daring dives like on their first ride, but that was okay with Jon. He could enjoy the view better like this, when he didn’t have to fear for his life, because one twist too many could be enough to throw him off.

Riding on Rhaegal’s back while actually paying attention to their bond was quite interesting. He hadn’t realized it that first time (hadn‘t really thought of anything than holding on for dear life) or that second time (when all he could think of was an undead dragon and it’s undead King), but while flying their minds were much _closer_ than on the ground. They partly blended into each other, became one pool of thoughts, where it didn’t matter which belonged to whom and that hovered like a third mindscape between their own one’s. If Jon thought about the prettily glittering water, an answering thought of amusement came right back. When Rhaegal wavered in the air and frustration rose from that pool, Jon shot back soothing reassurance without consciously deciding on doing it. Jon knew that Rhaegal chose him as his rider, permanently, despite his mother’s doubts, as much as Rhaegal knew of his own doubts about it and about his heritage, both of them without having to ask, because right then, those thoughts and feelings belonged to them _both_.

It was a new and strange connection, so different from the one with Ghost. It made him ask himself, if such a deep bond, deeper than usual, was also possible with his direwolf. Rhaegal’s answering thought seemed affirmative and Jon was starting to ask how, when he looked up and saw Dragonstone, which had been a far point on the horizon for some time, already much closer than he had thought. Amusement rushed through him, followed by a mental picture of glittering water accompanied by a mocking imitation of his earlier amazement, and Jon snorted and mentally shoved at the dragon who seemed to think he was very funny. The answering rumble under him could nearly be taken for laughter.

Dragonstone was just as impressive from the air, as it has been from the ground and the sea, with all it’s high towers and seemingly endless stairs, leading from the beach up to the castle. Even after everything that happened, the memory of standing on those stairs and seeing dragons for the first time in his life was still fresh in his mind. Amusement shot through him again and a picture, that looked like a memory itself, of little humans throwing themselves to the ground while soaring over them, nearly touching the stone with the tail. Jon rolled his eyes at Rhaegal laughing at his expanse, but had to smile himself at the gleeful cackle the dragon produced in his mind. 

Sighing soundlessly, he directed his attention back to what lay before them, just in time to see Drogon beginning to circle back from his place above the flagship, gliding over the ships back to where his brother was. Jon looked up to catch Daenerys‘ eyes, when they were close enough. There was still doubt and wariness in them, but it seemed to have calmed, be it because of her ride with Drogon calming her down or because Rhaegal being obviously content where and with whom he was, confirming Jon’s earlier words of the dragon wanting him on his back despite his injuries.

Not saying anything, they simply looked at each other for a few moments and all the longing and aching slammed back into Jon. He wanted to put his arms around her, wanted to hold her close to him, wanted to go back to loving her without any afterthoughts, wanted to go back in time, back to that waterfall, he wanted… 

_We should have stayed in that cave._

It seemed he was doomed to repeat his mistakes. 

The look in Daenerys‘ eyes gentled and he thought he could see her body sagging a little, obviously just as stressed out by the last days as he was. She closed her eyes for a moment and there was a little warmth back in them, when she opened them again. An unsure, trembling smile twitched over her lips and Jon felt an answering smile on his own. 

Rhaegal blew out what sounded like a snort and once more shook his body a little, making Jon startle and tighten his grip to not get thrown off. Drogon next to them answered with a snort himself and when Jon looked up again after making sure to have a good grip, there was some mirth in his queen’s gaze and he felt like that first time they flew together.  
Without ending up saying anything, she pressed herself closer to her dragon’s back, what made him shoot forward, easily overtaking his brother, leaving them behind with a screech that somehow sounded playful. 

Not allowing himself to think too much about it and to fall back into his brooding, Jon mimicked her pose, pressing himself closer to Rhaegal, and felt his answering excitement crash into his own, when his dragon sped up as well, gaining space fast, flying hot on his brother’s heels in mere seconds. They passed the flagship underneath them, nearing the beach and the high cliffs. Elation swirled in their shared mindscape and he couldn’t help but grin, as Drogon cut to the left fast, while ascending some more, and Rhaegal followed without any wavering in the air, proving just how good he adapted to his injury and how it really didn’t stop him from following his brother’s risky flight at all. On the black dragon’s back, Daenerys turned around and Jon could se a grin on her lips, not as bright as he remembered it to be between snow-covered mountains, but there nonetheless, and the aching in his heart lessened some. 

-

Chasing themselves around the bay before Dragonstone was, admittedly, a little childish, but Jon didn’t care much, when it silenced his dark thoughts for the time and made Daenerys smile again. A moment of rest from the mess their lives had become, from the personas they had to bring back up as soon as they touched ground. Maybe even a little moment of happiness, if he ignored everything that was looming over them. 

His budding moment of happiness turned into cold dread, however, when his eye caught something glinting, that seemed to close in on them fast. Following his instinct, that screamed at him to move **_now_** , he pressed down on Rhaegal’s neck, wrenching his body to left at the same time. His dragon followed his directions without hesitation, dropping down and swerving to the left, only just escaping the bolt that had been fired.

Rhaegal let loose a furious cry, that was shortly after answered by his brother, and Jon wrenched his head around to confirm that Daenerys and Drogon were unharmed. When he saw them hovering to his right, furious but without any visible injury, he started searching for the attacker.  
He found more of their bolts, before he found them, and Rhaegal dropped lower still, cutting closely around the dragon queen‘s flagship, where the Unsullied began to gear up for a fight, the tips of his wings brushing the ocean, before rising behind one of Dragonstone‘s many high cliffs, trying to catch a glimpse of the attacking force while hiding from their sights.  
Jon craned his neck to look at where something was just starting to make their way around the cliff and into the bay, saw ships, saw black sails and golden krakens and ground his teeth. Rage boiled up inside of him ( _they attacked his dragon, his queen, they tried to **hurt** them, they will **pay**_ ), but he managed to push it down, before he did something reckless, and tried his best to calm Rhaegal’s fury as well, forcing the both of them to think rather than to act on those emotions.  
More or less safe behind the cliff with the enemy’s ships still mainly on the other side of it, he turned around to look for Drogon once more and found him circling over the queen’s ships. 

Giving himself a few seconds to calm his racing heart and rasping breaths and **think** , Jon went with the idea that seemed to have the lowest chance of getting himself and Rhaegal killed and the highest chance of actually succeeding. With a look at the thin fog hovering above the grassy cliff in front of him, he leaned into his dragon, who followed his direction immediately and climbed through the air, leaving their hiding place, gaining height in the barely there protection of the fog. A glance to Drogon revealed him still close to their ships, cutting high and low, left and right to avoid the bolts sent his way, but not closing in to or getting away from the enemy. Jon urged his dragon to fly faster, ascend even further, while the distraction still lasted, to fly around to the end of the fleet, so that he would be nothing more than a dark smudge in the sky, hopefully dismissed for long enough for them to surprise the Greyjoy ships and take out at least some of them.

When they were high enough for the ships to look to be the size of his fingernail, _they leveled out_. Jon cast one last look back to the black dragon. He hoped Daenerys would realize what he had planned, because _they_ wouldn’t be enough to destroy the whole fleet, especially not in time to stop those damn Greyjoys from destroying their own fleet.

When _they finally hovered a little behind the last black sails_ , Jon dug his knees into green scales, clenched his hands tighter around the spines before him, ducked as low as he could, and Rhaegal took off, swooped down, beat his wings once, twice and _they were soaring through the air at high speed. They were fast_ , faster than Jon ever moved before, be it on horseback or dragonback, _shooting down like an arrow let loose, the wind tearing at them, ripping at their skin. Determination filled up their mindscape, blasted away every worry for any risks, narrowed everything down to the ships and the desire for their destruction,_ and if Jon had had a clear head right then, he would have realized how hot the blood in his veins burned, how rage teared through him like wildfire, impossible to stop. He would have realized how foreign that feeling was, would have asked himself where it came from so suddenly, but there were no such thoughts. _Their mind was one, was full of blood and rage and fire._

_The first screams and pointed fingers only started, when it was way too late. There were no words spoken, because they were unnecessary, both of them were thinking the same:  
They opened their mouth and rained down fire upon the Greyjoy forces, drenching the ships and men in hot red burning, while continuing their path above them, carving a path from the end to the front of the fleet, the men being too slow in turning around their weapons and loosening bolts. Sails caught on fire, wood splintered under the force of the flames. Men screamed, as their skin was set alight, and jumped into the water, that began to boil in the places their flames hit it directly. Ships broke in half, shattered to pieces from impact alone, throwing splinters and boards and metal left and right, sinking into the sea like stones. There was heat all around them, licking at their skin and scales, but it didn’t bother them. They knew the heat wouldn’t hurt them. Heat and fire couldn’t pierce their skin, no matter how much it may try. _

_Through the orange flames they blasted ahead of them, they could see the mounted crossbows on the foremost ships being turned around and pointed at them and they spat one last surge of flames, before veering sharply to the right, back to the cliffs, their attention on the sounds around them, to detect fired bolts and dodge them._

The Greyjoy men never got the chance to fire them, because as soon as the green-scaled dragon changed it‘s path, a second, even bigger shadow fell over them and Drogon screeched in violent delight, before he, too, rained down fire upon them, cutting a path from the front to the back of the fleet.

_Jon and Rhaegal felt breathless with excitement and agitation and power, the memories of the sea of fire still fresh in their mind when they climbed into the air to gain height again, and with a vicious, high-pitched cry, they turned around to join their brother and breathe fire once more._

-

When Jon came to later, when his mind cleared and the haze of blood and fire disappeared from his head, they were soaring through the air again, circling above burning ships and screaming men. His heart was racing away in his chest, his blood still rushing fast through his veins, and when he finally could wrench himself far enough out of their shared mindscape, where the thoughts were still tumultuous, restlessly chasing each other, he could hear his gasping breaths. He looked away from the sea of fire, looked at his hands, where they were clenched around Rhaegal’s spines, and tried to take deep, slow breaths. He carefully loosened his grip and realized his hands were shaking, that his whole body was shaking. Slowly he lowered his head, until his forehead met green scales.

He didn’t know, what to think. He didn’t know, how to work through what just happened. He felt grim satisfaction and violent contentment rushing through him and swallowed hard. Rhaegal and him just… he didn’t even know how to put it into words to do the feeling justice. They had been _one_. No shared thoughts, no shared mindscape, just _them_. As if there was no Rhaegal and Jon, only this one being, and now he felt bereft of what had been, as if something important had been ripped away from him. 

With trembling thoughts, he reached out to his dragon, only to feel violent excitement and satisfaction once more and recoil from it. Part of him wanted to dive back into that, become _them_ again, but another part of him warned him how easy it would be to lose himself in that. 

Instead, Jon reached out to another connection, and even over the great distance between them, comfort spread through his mind, cool and light, like snow falling from the sky. His body began to calm down, his breaths coming slower, his heart no longer trying to tear through his chest, his hands becoming steady once more. He didn’t move from his position, pressed against Rhaegal’s neck, until the soothing presence in his mind had quenched the fire rushing through it. He sent his thanks and his love as strongly as possible through the bond and got an affectionate nudge as answer, before the quiet presence pulled back. 

Only then did he pull himself up and looked around them. They were still flying, circling over the wrecks, that had begun sinking, with men swimming around them, trying to get to the beach before they were pulled down into the sea. Drogon was not far from them, circling as well, letting out satisfied screeches now and then. The silver-haired woman on his back glowed with the same vicious satisfaction and Jon thought that she had never looked more like a queen than in this moment: powerful, unstoppable, steadfast and so very beautiful, nearly literally glowing, as if there was fire underneath her skin as well, with eyes as bright as the flames on the water. And he couldn’t help falling in love with her again. 

Ripping his eyes away from his dragon queen and breathing deep, Jon dared to slip back into Rhaegal’s and his shared mindscape and, fortunately, found it calmer than before. Rhaegal seemed to have noticed his unease concerning their complete merging and kept his distance, waiting until Jon was ready to delve into their bond again, before he gingerly sent his feelings and thoughts. They were way calmer than before, the wildfire that had teared through _them_ simmering under their skin, but not threatening to break out again. The dragon tried to sent calming thoughts, but they weren’t really as effective as Ghost’s had been, even though they put him somewhat at ease. 

Jon got the feeling, that he had just now began to understand what it meant to be a dragon rider, what it meant to be bonded to a being, that was far more powerful than he ever could be, filled to the brim with magic of the Old. And he asked himself if that power swept away Daenerys, just as it had him, every time she rode on Drogon’s back, if it made them _one_ as well. If it was as difficult for her, differentiating herself from her dragon afterwards, if she even could differentiate between them anymore, if she even wanted to. 

And he didn’t know what to think of it, if she didn’t. And if she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All kinds of feedback will be very much appreciated! ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> All kinds of feedback will be very much appreciated! ^-^


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